The Chaos Within
by JillyW
Summary: Will Rhade be able to come to terms with what happened on Seefra5? Missing scenes from the end of 'Chaos And The Stillness Of It' S5
1. Chapter 1

Given what he went through in 'One More Day's Light', I really thoughtRhade deserved some closure - particularly given he didn't get to be part ofBurma's destruction. So this is my attempt to fill in the gap between the two final scenes of Chaos And The Stillness Of It. 

Self beta'd, and my first Andromeda fic, so please be gentle!

Thanks as always to Chya for her encouragement and feedback.

------

**THE CHAOS WITHIN  
By JillyW**

**  
Part 1  
**

Claaang!

The sound of a fist impacting with force against the metallic walls of Andromeda's corridor reverberated back to Captain Dylan Hunt as he watched the tall leather-clad figure storm away from him. Everything about the Nietzschean screamed anger and frustration, from the tensed shoulders, through the bunched deltoids in his muscular arms, to the quivering bone blades. Oh yes, and his vain attempts to punch holes in the warship's superstructure.

Not that, Dylan knew, that was his real intent. True to his genetic engineering, Telemachus Rhade was strong – but he would have no illusions that he was strong enough to do that. No, he just needed somewhere to direct the simmering rage that had built to bursting point in him, and now had no viable target for release.

"Ooops!" As Rhade reached the corner he cannoned into the tall blonde figure of Beka Valentine, Andromeda's erstwhile first officer. "Hey, big guy, where's the fire?" she asked lightly, putting an arm out to stop herself bouncing into the bulkhead.

To her alarm, though, the response was a big hand coming perilously close to grabbing her by the throat, the handsome bearded face thrusting into hers made ugly by the depth of emotion it held. But after a few taut seconds he pulled back and, with a snarl, stalked stiffly away from her in the direction of the shuttle bay.

She stared after him, open-mouthed, before turning back to Dylan with a stunned look. "What the hell was that all about?" But he could only shrug mutely, his expression as bemused as hers.

Beka laughed nervously. "Nietzscheans, huh? Gotta love 'em, even if you have no clue what makes them tick half the time." She glanced over her shoulder as another clang echoed from the distance.

"Must be something in their DNA," Hunt responded with a half smile, though his gaze was still focussed somewhere beyond her.

"Eh?" Her head snapped back round but the Captain had gone, leaving her wondering vaguely whether that had been some kind of crack about her matriarch status.

-o-o-o-

The door to Dylan's quarters slid shut behind him, and he leant wearily back against it. The past months trying to save the citizens of the Seefra system from the approaching sun – and themselves - had been long and arduous. But it was Trance's sun, he reminded himself for the thousandth time, and as Trance was a member of his crew, forced into what she'd had to do by his actions, that made it his responsibility.

Along with what had happened to the rest of his people, the hardships they'd suffered, the struggles they'd been through just to survive the harsh realities of life in this backwater of the universe. The less than honourable temptations they'd succumbed to in the interests of looking after number one.

Not that he could truly blame them. Although it seemed nothing could ever quash the eternal beacon of hope that resided deep within him, without that gleam of light to guide him he might well have gone the same way.

Surprisingly, though, the one who'd seemingly fallen furthest from grace had to be the former Admiral of the Tarazed Home Guard. Even taking into account the potency of the inbuilt Nietzschean instinct for self preservation, and their overly pragmatic 'glass half empty' approach to life, he'd been initially shocked by how Rhade's recent experiences had changed him.

Strength and physique apart – which in his case were natural rather than worked for – his physical appearance had been a clear enough indicator of how much the man had let himself go, a very far cry from the militarily precise turnout of the fugitive High Guard officer Dylan had taken onto his ship and into his trust.

In anyone else he might have put it down to circumstance; given the prevailing conditions on Seefra-1, getting a haircut and a shave wasn't high on anyone's list of priorities, and blending in was after all a proven survival technique. Not normally one employed by Nietzscheans, though. What lifted them above everyone and everything was their pride, their natural arrogance born of the belief they were in every way superior to mere humanity.

It had been Rhade's loss of pride, his descent to a point where he viewed everything through the bottom of a bottle, desperation never more than a short step away for all that he sought to hide it behind a fragile veneer of indifference, which had set him apart from Beka and Harper. With them Dylan had always expected the unexpected, always known that they had their own agendas, and had handled them accordingly. And Seefra hadn't really changed that.

But he'd lived and laughed, toiled and fought with them long enough to know the basic underlying morality that dwelt in all of them, for all their protestations to the contrary. So he'd done his best to give them reasons to call on that morality, to keep it alive and well until such time as he could get them all home. Whatever home might be after all this time.

In doing that, though, in reviving the memories and values of their past lives, it seemed he'd sown the seeds for this current dilemma.

He didn't regret his lie by omission to Beka. He actually had a good idea what was wrong with Rhade, but he didn't feel ready yet to share it. Not until he'd decided how to handle the situation.

Ever since he'd found Telemachus on Seefra-5, cut, battered and bruised, he'd known they had a problem. As expected, the Nietzschean had brushed off concern for his injuries and had kept to himself how they'd been sustained. But the declaration ground out through clenched teeth that Burma had to die had been enough to tell him who was to blame.

And the way he'd stooped to tenderly cover the face of the dead woman huddled on the floor – Ashael, their contact on the planet, Dylan had realised – spoke of some bond, some connection between the two of them that must have been forged in extreme circumstances to become so deep so quickly. All too reminiscent of another place, another time, a similar outcome.

Rhade had barely held himself in check while they went in search of Harper, and to be faced with the Sectarian leader there as well, to be unable to do anything to prevent both him and their engineer disappearing into the void had come close to breaking his barely regained inbred stoicism. And despite keeping him as occupiedas possible on other matters - such asfinding their ownTrance - that amount of anger was never going to be easily dispelled.

"Andromeda," he called, "where's Rhade?"

The ship's hologram shimmered into existence in front of him, hands clasped behind her back in her usual 'at ease' stance. "Lt. Cdr. Rhade has left the ship," she stated formally, and though he knew it should be impossible given what she was, Dylan could have sworn he could feel the disapproval behind the words and the unspoken 'good riddance' that followed them. Not really surprising, given that Andromeda would have heard his little get-together with Rhade in all its raging glory. The ship's AI was programmed to obey and protect her captain, and her holographic version sometimes took any threats to him rather too personally.

With a wave of his hand he dismissed her, moving to lower himself slowly into the nearest seat while he replayed the encounter in his mind, hoping for enlightenment...

-o-


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2  
**

...Burma was gone, and with him The Abyss – at least for now. And the real Trance had sent her less noble sister packing – again if only temporarily. They were all congratulating themselves on a successful result, when onto the Command deck came racing Rhade, guns drawn and obviously still looking for a fight.

His eyes narrowed in confusion as he skidded to a halt, and Dylan realised that he'd completely forgotten the vengeful Nietzschean chasing the cult leader's shadow through Andromeda's empty corridors while all the action had been taking place up there.

Beka's crows of delight at having had a major hand in the destruction of the entity that had invaded her mind and held her captive in her own body, and Doyle and Rommie's obvious self-satisfaction over the payback they'd extracted for Harper's injuries drew a single word from Rhade. "Burma?" he grated.

"Gone to hell, along with his nasty alter-ego," Beka confirmed with a broad grin, but the news didn't seem to please the tall, glowering figure before them. Dylan saw the flash of fury in the dark eyes, the lip curling in a snarl of anguished rage before, with a seemingly vast effort, Rhade clamped down on whatever response he might have made, turned on his heel and walked away.

The others had seen enough inexplicable Nietzschean displays of temper during their time in Seefra to dismiss it with a shrug, but a whispered "Oh dear," from Trance standing right next to him was enough for Dylan to know he couldn't leave it at that.

He had to run hard to catch up to his fast-striding friend. "Rhade, wait!" he called as he set off down the corridor in pursuit, but as expected he got no reaction. They were some distance from Command before he finally managed to slap a hand down on a broad shoulder and pull his quarry round to face him. Rhade shook himself free of the grasp, pushing the other man away with open palms that felt like pile drivers against his chest, before doggedly returning to his chosen course without a second glance at his victim reeling back against the bulkhead.

Dylan wasn't to be deterred though, scrambling up and lunging after him again. "Dammit, Rhade, stop!" he demanded, using both hands this time. And the Nietzschean spun round with a growl, arms swinging and bone blades coming to halt less than an inch either side of Hunt's neck.

"What?" Rhade demanded fiercely, voice ragged with emotion. "What do you want? Believe me, I'm in no mood for one of your lectures!"

He was breathing heavily, tremors running through him as he fought to control whatever demons were driving him. The reddened marks of the beating he'd endured still stood out lividly on his face and body, the damage extending beneath his leather vest. Wounds he'd chosen to wear like a badge, refusing to take advantage of Andromeda's med deck to heal the outward signs, as if needing their stinging bite as a constant reminder of what had gone before.

More indications of trouble brewing that Dylan had been forced to ignore in favour of saving what remained of this godforsaken universe. But it was obvious there was no avoiding it now.

"What's the matter with you, Telemachus?" he asked, striving to keep his tone purposefully reasonable despite the weapons still hovering so close to his jugular. "This is all good. The Abyss is gone, we've evacuated almost everyone to Seefra-1, and we have Harper and our own Trance back. Given where we've been the past few months, we should be celebrating. And if Trance is right about her sun, there'll be more to celebrate soon."

For long moments he could see the conflicting imperatives warring in Rhade's expression. The deep-seated sense of duty towards his High Guard captain, still in there somewhere although badly tarnished by their time in Seefra, and the fledgling bonds of rekindled friendship nurtured over the recent months, all fighting tooth and nail with some other unnamed need, one that at the moment was winning.

"You don't understand," he ground out finally, arms dropping to his sides, but the big hands clenching and unclenching gave clear evidence of how close to the edge he was. And, perhaps made just a little reckless by the need for some release of his own from the tensions of the past day, or maybe because he somehow knew it was what was needed, Dylan couldn't resist the urge to push him a bit further.  
"No, I don't," he agreed, nonetheless stepping back slightly to put some space between them. "So why don't you explain it to me? What is it this time, Rhade? Pissed off because you couldn't find any heads to bang together? Or has it just been too long since your last drink? Whatever it is, get over it – I have more important things to be worrying about."

With a gut-deep roar, the Nietzschean hurled himself forward, pinning Hunt against the wall with a muscular forearm across his throat, the sharp points of his blades digging through fabric to graze the skin beneath. "You? It's always about you! Always what you want!" he yelled. "Damn you to hell, Dylan Hunt! I made a promise! I promised revenge – Burma was mine, and you didn't even give me the chance to be there at the end! You had to have the victory for yourself, for Beka, Rommie – even for Doyle. But not me!"

Haunted eyes bored into him, black as ebony under the subdued lighting, full of accusation and condemnation, and Dylan could feel the hot breath on his face as Rhade came nose to nose with him. "I should have killed you when I first saw you back on Seefra – at least then I'd be crawling in the gutter of my own choosing, instead of dancing to your tune, playing by your rules. At least then there'd be no anticipation of anything more, no hope to dilute the purity of my despair. You were right, though – you can't hate hope. And now I can't even hate you any more - only myself..."

There might have been more, but something disturbed the big man's focus and with another growl of frustration he stepped abruptly away. Dylan sagged back, struggling to regain his balance, searching for some kind of coherent response to this unexpected outburst – he was more used to seeing him express his anger through violent action than words these days.

But before he could do or say anything more, Telemachus whirled round, lashing out to strike a glancing blow at the wall as he marched furiously away...

-o-

...And no points for guessing where he'd gone, Hunt thought with a sigh. Not that there were that many places left to choose from, but even if all the nine planets were still intact he'd still know exactly where to look.

The question was, should he?

They were rapidly approaching crunch time, and while he ultimately had to have faith in his gut instinct that everything was happening as it should, and that Trance's sun would stop once it reached its rightful position above Tarn Vedra, he nevertheless had to consider the safety of his ship and crew. He'd done everything he could for the citizens of Seefra, but there might yet be time for him to at least try and move Andromeda to a safe position - if such a thing still existed. Just in case.

And all but one of his people were here, where they should be.

So, that left him a choice. He could focus on the majority, or risk them in the hope of redeeming the one, so he could save them all.

Which in the context of what he'd faced in the last four years was a no-brainer.

"Andromeda, prep a slipfighter. I'm going to the surface."

"Captain," the ship's AI said, flashing up on his viewscreen, "Seefra-2 has just been destroyed. You don't have much time."

"Better hope sunset is a little late today, then," he murmured as he left the room.

-o-o-o-


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3  
**

Rhade took a long pull on the glass in front of him, savouring the burn of the neat alcohol, welcoming the increasingly numbing effect it was having on the burning turmoil within him. Not that he deserved any respite from it – only the blameless earn the right to peace of mind, and he was anything but.

The bar was full to bursting, Seefrans of all denominations coming together seeking some form of escape from the inescapable impending conflagration, the subdued drone of voices interspersed by pockets of wild revelry from those intent on going out with a bang rather than a whimper. But there was clear space around the table where he sat alone, as if the growing blackness he felt inside had formed an invisible barrier round him that no one could penetrate.

Probably just as well - given his current frame of mind, if anyone tried he'd probably either punch their lights out or bore them to death with his introspection. There were several unfortunates littering the place, unknowing fools who'd had the bad luck to get in his way when he'd first arrived and his anger was still close to boiling point, who might have preferred the latter fate.

He drained his glass, automatically re-filling it from the bottle he'd appropriated from Harper's personal supply and drinking deeply again, his subconscious intent on delivering him as quickly as possible to a place where failures were absolved and memories dimmed. Somewhere he'd sought out all too many times these past months.

But so far his mind was refusing to play the game; no matter how much or how fast he drank, he couldn't seem to dull the images and sounds that played out behind his unseeing gaze. Which was as it should be, he thought vaguely. For how could he ever forgive himself for making her believe he could take her to safety, and then being too late to protect her from the monster he knew her brother to be?

How could he ever forget her gentle touch as she tended his wounds? The way trust had replaced the fear in her eyes as she let herself accept his promise of freedom as the truth? Her sobs of agony, her desperate pleas to him to stop the pain, make it go away?

Or the soft clicking noise as he gave her the release she begged for...

The vow he'd made to the limp body cradled in his arms had been born of a surge of emotion the like of which he hadn't felt in an age. That complex mix of compassion, anger, frustration, guilt, made all the fiercer by the constant nagging ache of his bruised body, had loudly demanded justice for the innocent life needlessly taken, retribution for what it had cost him. And he'd been more than willing to heed its clarion cry.

But despite his determination, cruel fate had denied him the chance to wreak the vengeance he craved so badly.

Again.

Once more he'd let a woman under his guard. Allowed himself to care, to hope for something more than the perfect isolation he'd devised to shield himself from human frailties, in his quest for survival. To perhaps touch another's soul, however fleetingly.

Once more he'd been unable to save her. Once more he'd failed.

And once more he'd been left with no one to punish, no immediate focus for his inherent need to exact an eye for an eye, tooth for tooth. Except himself...

Another face to haunt his dreams, another fading star in the dark firmament of his despair. Jillian. Louisa. Ashael. How many more would there be before the end? How many more could he bear?

His self-absorption was so complete that it took a while for him to notice the bulky shadow falling across the table before him, and he looked up with a start. So much for his enhanced senses – or maybe it was just that he already knew who it was before he looked, and knew there was no threat.

"Is this seat taken?" Dylan asked, and at Rhade's crooked smile and expansive gesture of consent he dropped into the chair opposite him. Leaning back, he folded his arms across his chest, head tilted to one side as he watched the other man appraisingly.

The Nietzschean seemed unphased by the scrutiny, no outward sign of his recent rampant anger as he said pleasantly – too pleasantly, perhaps, "I'd offer you a drink, but as you can see there's only one glass and right now my need is greater than yours."

Dylan raised a hand. "Oh no, really, please carry on. I wouldn't want to keep you from that gutter you're so set on finding. There are plenty to choose from around here, and I'm sure the rats won't mind the company." But if he'd been harbouring thoughts of needling him enough to get a rise out of him, to provoke him into some kind of cathartic confession, he was disappointed. Instead Rhade just chuckled humourlessly, running both hands through his thick black hair to push it off his forehead as he sat back in his chair.

"Dylan, Dylan, Dylan," he responded, shaking his head. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a sun to stop? A planet to save?"

Hunt shrugged and pulled a face. "Well, we're all out of places to evacuate people to now, and much as I'd like there's not really anything I can do now to influence what's going to happen. And I may be wrong, but it seemed like we might have some unfinished business."

"So, what do you want? An apology? 'Cos, you know, I'm fresh out of them. But don't worry, you're quite safe now. Hating you still takes too much effort, and I have none to spare at the moment."

"Too busy hating yourself?"

Another wry smile, and a glass raised in mock salute. "Who better?"

"Oh, let me see…" Dylan said, counting them off on his fingers. "Try The Abyss. Or Burma. Or the Magog." He leant forward to give emphasis to his point, expression earnest. "You didn't kill her, Telemachus, any more than you killed Louisa. It wasn't your fault."

To his surprise, he thought he saw the dark eyes mist over with what looked suspiciously like unshed tears, distracting him from the whispered words almost lost in the babble of the crowd. "I wish that were true..." But before he could comment Rhade had blinked rapidly, focussing on topping up his drink again with hands that were only marginally unsteady, and when he looked up his gaze was back to its usual unreadable self.

"Whatever you say, Captain," he murmured over the rim of his glass. "You always know best, right?"

Exasperation flooded through Dylan. "Oh, for God's sake, snap out of it – you've never been shy before about telling me when you think I'm wrong! You know, I think I liked you better when you were having your temper tantrum, instead of sitting down here sulking like this. And yes," he continued firmly before Rhade could interrupt, "I know, it's a Nietzschean thing - sulking is healthy, depression is a survival strategy, yada yada yada."

The other man shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

"Say what you feel! If you want to blame me, go right ahead. Stop hiding behind that bottle and spit it out!"

Brown eyes locked with blue for what could have been minutes or merely seconds, in some kind of silent war of wills that only ended when Rhade finally spoke, voice rough and deep.

"There you go, making it about you again. It's not. It's not even about me. It's about a leader who could condemn his people to die through wilful stubborn ignorance. A brother who could kill his sister, for the crime of wanting to survive. You've seen liqui-bots stripping metal from a slipfighter? Well, just imagine how well they work on flesh and blood. And you want to know the bitter irony of it? In the end I finished the job for him, become his unpaid executioner. Which makes me worse than him, doesn't it?"

Dylan frowned, struggling to understand what he was being told, but Rhade carried on regardless. "She begged me to make the pain go away." He held his hands up in front of him, surveying them with an expression of deep disgust. "And I did." His hands dropped, his eyes meeting Hunt's again, hard and challenging. "You want me to tell you you're wrong? You are. I did kill her."

And suddenly it all made sense – the simmering rage, the burning need for revenge, the haunted, hunted look the Nietzschean had been wearing since it happened. Hardly surprising, given what he'd just heard. But Dylan was left struggling again, this time for the right words to say to help him.

His lack of response didn't appear to surprise Rhade, though. The tension seemed to drain from him a little as he went on. "So no, I don't blame you. Not now. Only myself." He sighed, staring down into the smoky depths of his drink. "Harper was right – there was a part of me that saw Seefra-5 as another Arkology. As a second chance, a chance to save Ashael as I couldn't save Louisa. But in the end there could be no salvation for any of us. Only more grist for the mill of my nightmares."

Dylan finally found his voice, choosing his words carefully. "You did what you had to do, Telemachus. What she wanted. In the end you did save her. She's free now."

"Are any of us ever really free? Even in death?"

"It's our choices that make us free. She chose her own path, her own way out – you were just the instrument. You gave her what she couldn't give herself, what she needed most right then. You can't let it destroy you. You have to let it go."

For long moments Rhade just sat, shadowed gaze distant as if seeing something other than the bar around them, until Dylan felt compelled to break the silence.

"Come on. This isn't where you need to be." He gestured round their seedy surroundings. "Either something incredible is about to happen, or we're all going to die. Either way, you don't want to be alone down here when the time comes. We've all been through way too much not to be together for this. And if the miracle comes, and we get through it, who knows? Maybe it will give us somewhere new to start looking for a way out of this system again. Find us a way back to our own space and time."

"More adventures?" Rhade asked, raising an eyebrow, his half-smile gently mocking.

"Oh, I was thinking more of survival – after all that is your prime genetic imperative, isn't it?"

"Adventure… and survival?" he mused. "Who could resist that combination?"

"Well, it worked on Beka, so…" Their moment of reminiscence was interrupted by Dylan's comm unit crackling into life, Andromeda's voice informing him that he needed to leave now if he wanted to get back to the ship in time. Acknowledging her call, he looked at his friend again.

"Shall we?" he asked, hope springing eternal in him as always.

With a long suffering sigh that hid the tiny ray of light he could feel beginning to lift the pall that enshrouded his spirits, Rhade pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, scattering the people behind him. "Why not?" he responded, gesturing to the nearly empty bottle. "Looks like the drink's run out anyway."

And with a satisfied smile, Dylan followed him out of the bar.

-o-o-o-

"Nice of you to join us," Beka said with a grin, as they walked onto the Command Deck. "Have fun?" He could see the curiosity in her eyes, knew how much she'd want to find out what had gone on down on the planet. But she wasn't going to hear it from him. It was Rhade's story to tell, not his, and he doubted the Nietzschean would ever do that – and certainly not without making her work long and hard for the information.

"Well, you know," he smirked back, "seemed like you guys had everything under control, so…" He stepped up onto the central platform, and Beka ceded the pilot's position to him, moving to take over the right hand console. "OK, Andromeda," he continued, eyes drawn irresistibly to the vast glowing ball of burning gases filling the viewscreen ahead, "give me a status update."

As the AI appeared and began giving chapter and verse on the ship's position relative to the only remaining celestial bodies in the Seefra system, and theirs to each other, he glanced surreptitiously round at his crew.

Between him and the fidgeting Beka, Rommie and Doyle were standing calmly together, continuing their avatar double act, and Rhade had gone to join Harper at the workstations to his left, the two of them now casting sideways looks at each other as if weighing up the relative extent of their visible injuries. Dylan was pleased to see the little engineer up and functioning, albeit looking a little the worse for wear, and had to stifle a smile at the on-going show of mutual disdain that characterised the unlikely friendship neither would openly admit to.

He looked ahead again as Andromeda finished, to find Trance staring up at him from where she stood before the main screen. He answered the question he saw in her serene gaze with a slight inclination of his head, and saw her acknowledge it with a barely perceptible nod of her own before turning her full attention forward to where her sun was moving inexorably on.

A place for everyone and everyone in their place, he thought. Now, if the same would just hold true for Tarn Vedra...

END


End file.
